Trapped in Ice (5 page)

“No, but what it means does matter. Air's cold, cold before its time. Could mean an early freeze-up.”

“How long before we get to Herschel Island?” I asked. “Maybe six days, but could be as many as ten, dependin' …”

“Depending on what?”

“Wind at our back, water stays clear of ice.”

“Ice! There won't be ice yet, will there?”

“No tellin'. Seen some floes already, but we can sail around 'em, as long as we don't get a freeze-up.”

“It wouldn't freeze up, would it?” asked Michael.

“Could ... just hope it won't.” He turned and walked away, disappearing behind one of the bulkheads.

“That was almost friendly,” Michael noted, “or at least friendly for him.”

“I guess. Do you think he was kidding about the ice floes?”

“I don't know. Let's go and ask Jonnie,” suggested Michael. My brother turned and walked away and I hurried after him.

It wouldn't be hard to find Jonnie. If he wasn't on deck working he could always be found in the kitchen, sitting at the big galley table sipping hot coffee and gabbing with the cook. They were both from the same little outport on the Newfoundland coast. I'd also found out that Captain Bartlett was from Newfoundland, but from a much bigger village. We burst into the kitchen and found Jonnie, as expected.

“Mornin'!” he said cheerfully, rising to his feet. “How's your first breath of good Arctic air feel?”

“About the same, only colder,” Michael responded. Jonnie came over and pulled out a chair for me. I sat down and Michael took the empty seat beside me.

Without being asked, the cook set down two bowls of steaming oatmeal in front of us. There was always a big pot of something simmering on the stove.

“I ain't been seein' ya about much, Helen. Ya gettin' yer sea legs?”

“I'm feeling much better, thank you for asking. I just like to spend time reading.”

Actually it had been a challenge even to read with my stomach being so unsettled.

“She spends her life reading,” added Michael.

“I have many fine books,” I said proudly, “if ever you want to borrow one.”

“Thank ya. I might drop on by an' take a peek at your books, but I ain't got much time ta be readin', what with all the work ta be done.”

“Surely there must be some time for you to ... ” I stopped short. Jonnie was gazing down at his coffee mug. I remembered how he said he'd only gone to fourth form and I wondered if he could read very well. I hadn't meant to embarrass him.

“Jonnie, the Captain was telling Michael and me about ice floes.”

“Seen a couple,” he answered, getting up to refill his coffee cup.

“Big ones?” I asked apprehensively.

“A few, but nothin' ya needs ta be worried none 'bout.”

I think he could tell by the look on my face I wasn't particularly reassured.

“I been sealin' with the Cap'n up near Greenland last winter. The floes was so big an' close tagether ya wouldn't 'ave thunk ya could 'ave got a rowboat
between 'em ... but he done it. Many's the time we 'ad ta use pry bars ta make a space big enough ta let the ship on through.”

“That sounds frightening.”

“It was. Big bergs get calved off from the glaciers an' come sailin' on down. Some of 'em higher than the top of the mast. Ya just pray they don't come splintering down on top of ya.”

“Wow!” exclaimed Michael.

“We won't be seein' no floes like that up here. 'Sides, up in Greenland the Cap'n would be tryin' to get close ta the floes.”

“Why would he want to do that?” I asked in amazement.

“'Cause that's where the seals is ... on the ice ... if ya can't get close ya can't catch 'em.” Jonnie looked at me and I think he could tell none of this was making me feel any better.

“The Cap'n will be steering us wide of any ice he can. You don't 'ave ta worry none about any ice floes.”

“So we have nothing to worry about?”

“Didn't say that. Just said ya didn't have ta worry about floes.”

“Then what should we worry about?” I asked.

“Freeze-up.”

“Freeze-up?”

“Solid ice. Can't steer around it, can't get through it. We'd be trapped.”

 

 

Chapter Six

I
AWOKE WITH A START
and sat up in bed. The cabin was completely dark and I felt warm and snug inside my sleeping sack. Mother has been working feverishly to make one for everybody. She sews two thick blankets together and adds a layer of caribou skins on the outside. The skins are rough to the touch but are very warm. Only the top is open where your head sticks out and the other three sides are sewn together.

The hides came from the hold. I was down there a few times to get things for Mother. It's filled with supplies the expedition will need for the entire two-year trip. It's brimming with wooden boxes, stacks of canned goods, bushels of potatoes and apples, wood, tents, blankets and lots more. It reminds me of a general store, except there isn't rock candy in a glass container on a counter.

The cabin was completely silent, except for the faint sound of breathing from my brother and Mother sleeping. Nothing to worry about.

Then it struck me: there was no other sound. Over the past few days there'd been the constant sound of the ship crunching through the skin of ice covering the sea. The ice wasn't thick, but breaking through made a constant
sound: a grating, grinding, snapping noise, almost like the sound sugar makes underfoot when you accidentally drop some on the floor and then walk on it. And now it was gone. We must have hit open water.

I lay back in my bed and breathed a big sigh of relief. Everything was going to be okay. Then as quickly as my sense of relief came, it was gone. I had a premonition something wasn't right. I couldn't instantly put my finger on it, but I knew something was wrong ... something was missing ... it was as if we weren't moving. I held my breath and tried to lie completely motionless. I concentrated and tried to feel something, anything, any hint of the waves rocking the ship. The rhythm of the ship, up and down and side to side, was gone. The ship wasn't moving!

I drew my legs up and wiggled out of the sleeping sack. I was still dressed in my night clothes and the chill of the cabin instantly seeped through the material. I threw my legs over the side of the bunk and located my shoes. I tied them up quickly. As I stood up, I stumbled and fell back to the bed. The floor was locked on an angle. The ship was frozen in place.

Carefully I rose to my feet again, holding on to the bed with one hand. Quietly, so as not to disturb my mother, I slipped my coat on over my night clothes. I moved across the cabin, opened the door and went into the corridor, silently closing the door behind me.

I could see my breath in the faint glow thrown by an oil lamp hanging at the far end of the walkway. At the hatchway the light became brighter, not just from the lamp but from the sunlight coming in from above. Even though it
was late, and I wasn't sure how late, the sun would still be in the sky until the middle of the “night.” Jonnie told me that during June and part of July the sun stayed up in the sky all night long, sort of like a day that lasted eight weeks. Michael liked that. He said if Mother told him to come in when it got dark, he could stay out and play for two more months.

Opening the hatch I was struck by both the cold and the eerie “midnight sun.” I stepped out onto the deck. There was a strange silence. Not even the wind was breathing. Then I heard voices. I walked around the bulkhead and saw a group of men standing by the rail talking. Jonnie was among them, listening but not really part of the discussion. He saw me and walked over.

“Little late, ain't it, Helen?”

“I guess so. What time is it?”

He pulled out a watch hanging on the end of a chain and opened it up. “Quarter past one.”

I nodded. “We're frozen in, aren't we?”

It was Jonnie's turn to nod.

“How bad is it?”

“Come an' 'ave a look,” Jonnie said, motioning me to follow him to the side of the ship.

Looking out, I was taken aback by the view. As far as the eye could see, all the way to the horizon, the sea was a solid mass of shimmering ice. I could make out a series of ripples and bumps and ridges that marred the surface, but there was no hint of the water underneath.

“Pretty thick ... too thick ta break through. Cap'n's sending out a party in the morning ta check 'ow far it
goes. I t'ink it's over a mile ta open water ... too far ta cut through I t'ink.”

“Nobody pays ya ta think, Jonathan,” came the Captain's voice from behind me.

I turned to face him.

“Jonathan, ya better get below deck an' grab some rest. You'll be needin' your energy fer tomorrow ... when we may have ta cut our way through.” Instantly Jonnie turned and headed for the hatch.

“Cut our way through?” I repeated, not quite sure what he meant.

“Ya questionin' my orders too?”

“No sir! ... I just didn't understand what you meant ... that was all, sir,” I apologized.

“It means what I said. We'll be gettin' out the long saws an' cuttin' out a place for the ship ta slip through.”

“But Jonnie said it was over a mile.”

“Maybe, maybe not. A mile or two we can cut through,” he answered.

“And if it's farther than that?” I asked, afraid of what his answer might be.

“Then we don't cut through.”

“What do we do then?”

“Nothin',” he answered.

“Nothing?”

“Nothin'. We just sit an' wait an' pray it warms up some or the winds shift an' a path opens up.”

“So all of those things could happen, right?” I asked hopefully.

“Could. Lots of things could happen. But probably won't.”

“You mean that …” I couldn't bring myself to finish the sentence. My heart suddenly felt as cold as the ice surrounding the ship.

Captain Bartlett nodded. “Something my gramma used ta say ta me when I was about your age: ‘Pray for the best, an' prepare for the worst.' So ... I want ya ta do just that ... go down below, lass, get inta your bed and say a prayer.”

 

 

Chapter Seven

I 
WENT BACK TO BED
but was able to catch only short snatches of sleep. I waited anxiously until Michael started moving in his bed and I knew he was awake. I tiptoed across the cabin and told him what had happened. We didn't want to disturb Mother, so we dressed quietly and hurried up onto deck.

Huddled together in small groups were members of the expedition. Some were bundled in the new coats Mother had made. She had been working almost non-stop the last week to outfit everybody for the cold which had come so much sooner than predicted. The sun was now much brighter, although the air was chilly and a stiff breeze was blowing so hard it cut right through my old coat. I hadn't gotten one of the new ones yet. Mother had said it wouldn't look right for me or Michael or her to have new coats until she'd made them for everybody else. Jonnie had offered to let me use his new one until mine was ready, but I'd turned him down. It was better to be cold than have my brother tease me any more about Jonnie being sweet on me.

“I hear dogs, but I can't see them,” Michael said.

I ran over to the starboard railing. Down on the ice two teams of dogs stood, hooked up to sleds. Their Eskimo
handler was crouched over on the ice and three members of the expedition were standing just off to one side.

Michael came up beside me. “It's like a giant skating rink.”

“Search party off the starboard!” yelled out a voice.

I turned and looked up. It was the lookout, up in the crow's nest at the top of the front mast. My eyes turned back to the ice and I scanned the horizon. The glare off the ice was so strong I had to cup my hands over my eyes.

At first I couldn't see anything. Then I started to make out a small, dark shape on the very edge of the horizon. I strained my eyes to see what it was.

“Comin' down?” asked Jonnie.

“Down where?”

“Ta the ice. We's goin' down on the ice.”

“Sure!” Michael said, breaking my concentration.

“Shouldn't we stay here?”

“You can stay here. I'm going down,” Michael replied.

The men began moving aft. Reluctantly I followed the crowd. At the rear of the ship was a ladder leading down. One after another the men filed down the ladder and took to the ice. Michael was the last one, leaving me alone on deck. I hesitated for a moment and stared back out at the incoming figures. It looked like two teams of dogs. I took a deep breath to steady my nerves and started down the ladder. At the bottom I tentatively placed one foot on the ice. I knew, having seen all those men and dogs on the ice, that it would hold me, but I still felt nervous. I put all my weight on the ice. It was solid and smooth, rippled with cracks and bubbles beneath the surface. Carefully, making sure my feet didn't slide out from under me,
I moved over to where everyone stood. There was a feeling of anticipation. People were talking, and even the dogs seemed to be getting excited, probably sensing or smelling the incoming teams.

Michael was standing beside the dog handler, whose name was Kataktovick. It was hard to tell how old he was, his face was so worn and weathered. He had jet black hair and wasn't much taller than me. He didn't speak very much English, but this hadn't stopped my brother from spending time with him by the pens where the dogs were kept. Michael was teaching him some English, and Kataktovick was teaching Michael things about the animals. The most important thing that he'd learned, at least that he'd told me, was how some dogs were nice and some were pretty mean. Michael said he now knew which dogs to avoid. Of course, this hadn't stopped him from getting bitten. It wasn't a bad bite, and Dr. Mackay had fixed it up. I didn't find out about it until two days later, when he was getting changed. He made me promise not to tell Mother.